The 74th Hunger Games
by Dear Pigfarts. Love the Doctor
Summary: It's a dreary day as the names are called out for the 74th Hunger Games; one boy, one girl from every districts. Just like always. You have all heard this story before, but this time it is different. What if one girl, a small town girl of District 12 who volunteered for her sisters life, wasn't there? What would be different? Prim's POV.


**The 74th Hunger Games**

 ** _Chapter 1 – Primrose Everdeen_**

It is hard. Life. No one really warns you enough, and when suddenly the crushing weight of survival falls on your shoulders, you are nowhere near ready for it. Sometimes I wake up and I can't breathe. Like there's a weight on my chest; maybe I know that if I can't make it through this day, then nothing else – and no one else – can help me. I reach for the bed beside me and find a warm body beneath my fingers, but it is wrong. The skin is sagging off the bones, and it is too soft for my sister. My eyes crack open and I can see her across the room, wheezing, barely able to make it through the night. My mother shifts beside me in the bed, her warmth still soothing, but nothing compared to the strong arms of my sister. Katniss, our protector, is dying.

With no more hunting bringing in game, and whatever Katniss was able to trade, we had to make do with the goat's milk and cheese. A good batch could buy some bread and maybe some much-needed supplies, if the venders are feeling charitable. But who can afford to be charitable in a place like District 12? Regardless of charity, nothing I can find or make can get us enough money to buy, or trade for medicine. Meaning Katniss' only hope lies with our slightly vacant mother's long-since-used apothecary skills. Gale appears every now and then, looking for news on Katniss, and offering his extra spoils. Sometimes he stays for the weak tea my mother brews, or a small chat with Katniss. When he leaves, at times I see a hint of moisture on his cheeks, or a rim of red along his eyes. Gale has kept us alive, and we owe him everything – but I know that if Katniss were in any shape to refuse all he does for us, she would.

A while back I asked for Gale to teach me how Katniss found food; as the only time she tried to show me was horrifying. I know I convinced her not to try again by insisting we cure what was meant to be our dinner. The fear of starvation has stopped the tears coming to my eyes at the thought of death – of an innocent animal's life being cut short for our survival. No, Gale could not teach me to hunt. But to gather was now my speciality.

Shifting out from under my mother's arms, I find myself some clean clothes and pull boots out from under mine and Katniss' bed. The boots are made of a supple leather; really sturdy for how long they have lasted. They used to be Katniss', but I had begun wearing them once I decided to venture into the woods. The ground was far too dangerous for my flimsy shoes, and it was not like my sister needed shoes too often these days. I hear a soft mewling from the base of the bed and look to find Buttercup staring back at me with his vigilant gaze. I know Katniss has hated him ever since I brought him home as a defenceless, desperate kitten.

I remember when I found him. He was crying on the side of the road, with a missing ear and a dirt filled coat. Someone had obviously left him to die, or one of the alley-cats that roamed District 12 at night may have left him – but whoever it was did not care for a moment what happened to him. There was something about him, though. Something that called out to me. I needed to keep him alive; if only to prove to the world that with a little care, even the worst-off can survive. I brought him home, much to Katniss' disapproval, and fed him. Katniss had refused to ration for him, telling me that the 'flea-ridden-monster' was not worth her extra time. But I loved him. At first I gave him half of my own food, not caring that I would end up going to school with an itching pain in my stomach. Katniss eventually gave in, leave scraps for him and finding things he liked in the forest. I named him Buttercup because, with all my childish hope, I thought that when he got better his coat would turn to the shade of the beautiful yellow flower my mother grew in our garden. I give his scruffy head a gentle pat, scratching the base of his mostly missing ear. He leans into my touch and a smile forms on my face as I tuck my hair into my cardigan, keeping it out of my face.

Before I leave I retrieve a book from the shelf next to the door and take it back to the chair beside our bed. I fold my legs beneath me and smile as I open the worn pages of my father's journal. It is filled with delicate drawings of the different flowers and plants that surround District 12, and even some that I can't find anywhere at all. I find myself immersing myself in its pages when I get nervous, or lonely, sometimes even reading passages to Katniss on her worst nights. Every time I touch the pages I feel closer to my father, even though I barely remember him. Just past the middle page, tucked in between the drawing of the Katniss root and the Knotweed, is an old photograph of a striking man. People around town tell me I look like him, but I don't see it. But as I glance at my sleeping sister, I know in whom, he lives on. With a smile I return the book to its shelf and head through the door quietly.

The sun is still rising as I go to work weeding the garden and milking the goat. I don't mind the labour. Most of the time it distracts me from the fact that my mother is watching helplessly as one of her daughters dies of a sickness that we can't afford to cure, while the other does all she can to survive.

It is quiet out on the streets as I head quickly to the outer fence. At this time of day our neighbourhood would usually be crawling with coal miners on their way to the morning shift, but everyone has taken to their beds to rest before the reaping today. I can hear others moving in their houses around the Seam, the roughest part of District 12, and the place we call home. It is difficult for anyone to stay asleep on today of all days.

Our house is not far from the edge of the Seam. It does not take me long to reach the Meadow. My gaze shifts around quickly, watching for pursuers and guards. But there is no one in sight. I look to the trees and see the disappearing form Gale as he moves into the dense scrub, silently beckoning me to follow. We've become a team, Gale and I. He finds the meat and I find the rest. Berries, roots, and other vegetables – whatever I can forage.

I listen closely to the fence for the hum of electricity, leaning in far too close to the wire. Waiting an extra moment, just to be sure, I decide that the electricity must be out so I take the chance to slide under the fence. My shirt is instantly dirty as my stomach, slightly swollen with hunger, rubs against the ground. I am still short, shorter than most of the other girls my age, and so I fit in the gap easily. The other children at school make fun of me for my height, and because the Seam is filled with people like my father – the fact I look more like my mother has also meant people look at me far too closely. I am hoping that once my body begins to change into a woman's, my height will catch up with those around me.

Gale finds me as I enter the trees. He watches over me too closely every moment we are in the woods. He knows that if – no, when – Katniss gets better, she will gut him if he ever lets anything happen to me. So, instead I have to stay by his side. Hide when he says, run when he does, go back in to town if he senses anything too big for him to handle. Thankfully nothing too bad has happened. Nothing he couldn't protect me from.  
"Hey, P," he smiles as he speaks, using his nickname for me. He has a nice smile; I think it impresses my mother whenever he comes over. Though I know that even if he and my sister ever had any 'feelings', neither would say it – love is difficult when you live in a place like District 12.  
"Do you think we'll catch anything good today?" I ask softly, looking around the trees.  
"Already have." Gale holds up a small loaf of bread, an arrow stuck through it. I laugh, then bite my lip. My stomach growls as the scent is sent my way by a mischievous gust of wind. "Would you like some?" He asks softly, breaking the loaf in half.  
"Yes, please!" The words barely left my mouth before they were replaced with the soft, warm bread. Its' taste was like nothing I could remember, and the feeling of it in my mouth was more than I could handle. I feel the burn of tears in my eyes and try to hide them, turning away from Gale before he can see. But I am not fast enough. He smiles sadly and surprisingly wraps his arms around my shoulders. He is six years older than me, and miles taller, but his hug means more than any bread.

We spend the next few hours hunting and gathering food for tonight, and to sell in the days to come. As we walk back to the perimeter, Gale divides the eight fish, which he caught, and the roots and greens, handing me a half. I begin to protest, knowing that his family is far larger than mine – more mouths to _not_ feed. But he shakes his head, and walks off. Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I return home past the hollow log in which my sister keeps our fathers bows. I wished that one day I can stomach the actual work, knowing that when that day comes, my family will be better off.

Even as I shimmy back under the fence, and run back to my small house, I cannot manage to shake the small gnawing in my stomach; the fear of what today may bring.

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 **A/N: Words – 1,786**

 **Hmmm, please tell me what you think. This is going to be entirely from Prim's POV, and yes... I guess you understand what happens next. I hope you enjoy it :)**


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